


Prep Time

by posingasme



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, Chef Castiel, Holidays, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2017-01-04
Packaged: 2018-09-12 15:43:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9079147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/posingasme/pseuds/posingasme
Summary: Castiel is a confident chef, with a lovely family. But it wasn't always that way. Every holiday, he spends a little time remembering what it took to get there. Every great recipe includes some prep time.





	1. Collect Ingredients

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SharpieStealr8200](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SharpieStealr8200/gifts).



> A full year ago (seriously, it was Jan 3, 2016, I checked), SharpieStealr requested culinary!Cas as a Sastiel story.

“Your man is drunk on his own eggnog,” Charlie reported happily as she entered the large kitchen, and put down a tray to reload with goodies for the party.

Castiel smiled quietly to himself, but did not look up from his work. “Is he already?”

“Yup. He keeps telling Dean how short he is and giggling, big brother is probably going to deck him.”

“Ask them not to get blood on my linens.”

She nodded her promise. “So are you ever coming out of here to join the guests?”

He licked his lips, and checked the oven for the next round of hors d'oeuvres. The raspberry ganache and the turtle cookies had been devoured in seconds. The cranberry macaroons were completely gone. His chocolate-dipped pretzel sticks with green and white drizzle would not last long, but he prepared Charlie's tray.

“Cas?”

“I'm content, Charlie, thank you. Is Dorothy having a good time?”

“She's managed to accidentally stand under every scrap of mistletoe in the place.” 

Castiel laughed. “How unfortunate.”

Charlie gave him a wink, and hurried back out into the fun. 

He would need to get the bacon-wrapped asparagus out soon. He had too many sweets in a row. There was the Parmesan ranch baked crackers, but that was probably gone by now. He needed to move to the heavier dishes. And he had promised Dean bacon. He checked again on the pullapart basil and rosemary garlic cheese bread shaped as a simple Christmas tree, and decided it could use another minute. In the meantime, his fingers were busy with the pesto and cucumber rolls, as he was calculating whether he had time to do the wreath of olives before the main dishes.

This was the happiest Castiel could ever remember being. Even as he scurried around his kitchen, his thoughts wandered to just a few short years before, when he couldn't have imagined himself in such a dream. 

***

“Creative. But too ambitious.”

“Practical but not memorable.” 

“It's an odd mixture of savory and entirely tasteless. I don't know how you managed that.”

Castiel ground his teeth. He was sick of trying to please these people. If only they would just let him create, without demanding contradicting qualities from his food. Did they want balance? Did they want innovation? Traditional? Pragmatic? Couldn't they just let him cook? If they could give him a simple request, he could deliver on it. But wanting him to be audacious and reserved at the same time was just exasperating. It was difficult enough balancing palatable and artistic.

After another night spent at the mercy of critics who couldn't be bothered to even spell his name correctly in their evaluations, Castiel was wondering why he was doing it to himself at all. 

“Slam a few more baking sheets around. I hear that helps.”

He sent an icy glare at his housemate. “Do you want peppermint brittle?” 

Gabriel nodded. “I do.” 

“Then it's going to require a little more slamming of baking sheets.” He deliberately let the one he was looking for crash onto the counter, and he threw the rest of them back. He knew he would return later to organize them with love and regret, but at the moment, he couldn't be bothered. 

“You're so adorable. You're as pissed off as I've ever seen you, and yet your most chilling threat is lack of peppermint brittle.”

“If I punch you, I might hurt my hand, and then you won't get any peppermint brittle.” 

“Yes I would.” 

Castiel scowled. “Yes you would, but only because that's how I apologize for punching people when I'm stressed.”

“Stop stressing about those stupid teachers. You're a better chef than they are. It pisses them off.”

Castiel proceeded to throw himself into crushing the mints. “I appreciate people who teach me. I just get frustrated when they give me tasks that don't make sense just to cut it down. They say they want something more muted, then complain that it's too mild. So next time I let the flavor stand out, so that they tell me it's too strong. I try to blend something to give them everything, and they say it doesn't mesh well. If they would just tell me, make a damn formal dinner, and they just left me alone, I could do it. But every time one of them comes over to help me,” he complained, putting a sarcastic slant on that phrase, “the other hates the result. I think it's far less about me and my cooking, and far more about how these two shouldn't be teaching in the same kitchen, since they have never agreed on anything in their careers.”

“I feel like you're going to go through the counter. Are you going to break my counter?”

“Is your counter crap?” 

“Yes.” 

“Then probably.”

Gabriel sighed. He stole a candy, earning himself a vicious glare, and tossed it to his dog.

“He's going to break his teeth on those,” Castiel mumbled.

“He's tougher than he looks.”

“He'd have to be.”

His housemate shrugged at him. “So quit.”

“You want a dark chocolate layer?”

“If ever I say no to that, assume I've been body-snatched and do what you have to do.”

Castiel moved to take his chocolate from his pantry, and returned to work. “I'm not going to quit,” he continued. “I just have to get through till I can work with Chef Leo. At the rate they're burning out every other student, I'll be the only one who makes it, and I'll get the job by default.”

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “Now there's some confidence if I've ever heard it. I'm going to work for the best chef in the Midwest because I'm the only one stubborn enough not to say fuck it along the way.”

“Pretty much,” Castiel snapped. “If talent were all it took, Jenny Klein would have been the most famous cupcake chef of all time.”

“Who is Jenny Klein?” 

“Exactly.” 

Gabriel shook his head. “I guess I just don't get why you're putting yourself through this when you're already a great cook. I've been to Avante-Garde, while this Leo guy was in the kitchen. I wasn't all that impressed. Great food. But I've been spoiled by your stuff. As far as I can tell, you're better than he is.”

“It isn't just about the cooking,” Castiel sighed, and at last his voice was beginning to calm into weariness. “It's about running a kitchen, about managing a business. You know. Your dad-”

“Cassie, you've been Dad more often than Dad. You're the son he always wanted. But you're better than he was too.” 

A tiny smile crept onto his face, and he tried to hide it behind working to melt the chocolate on the stove. “That's blasphemy, Gabriel.”

“It's true! Dad was never so focused as you.”

“He didn't have to be. He was Carver Edlund.”

Gabriel snorted. “He was Chuck.”

Castiel smiled wistfully. “He was Chuck to you. To me, he was the great Chef Carver Edlund.”

“No, to me, he was a pain in the ass.” 

“In his defense, I think the feeling was mutual.” 

“You will never not take his side, will you?”

Castiel laughed finally. Gabriel had a way of both exasperating and amusing him into forgetting his stressful day. He supposed that was why he still lived with him. “Gabe, your father left a legacy in this city. If I'm ever going to make him proud…”

Gabriel smiled softly when he stopped. “It's okay. That ship sailed for me a very long time ago. Like I said, you're the son he wanted. I'm just the one he had. He was proud of you, man. Little Cassie growing up to be the owner chef just like him.”

“Yeah, not yet. I'm not anything yet.”

“You're Carver Edlund’s protégée, dude. That ain't nothing.”

“It isn't Carver Edlund.” Castiel refocused on his baking with a renewed determination.

He had the startup funding, thanks to Carver’s will. When the old man had promised to take care of him when he passed, Castiel had assumed he had meant he would leave him a good job reference. He never would have guessed that Carver intended to leave him the money to build his own restaurant. He had wept when Carver had died, and again when Gabriel's lawyer had called him in to receive Carver’s testament. Gabriel's older brothers had been disgusted by the whole thing, but had clearly already been informed of the decision, unlike Castiel himself. Michael and Raphael would each receive one the two five-star restaurants Carver had built with his bare hands, Gabriel received the majority share in the hotel which housed one of them, and for Carver’s little angel Castiel, the capital to begin his own place. It was more than he had ever dreamed of.

The most amazing part of it all was that Carver was leaving every decision to him. The man who had built up a tiny empire of restaurants and hotels, he was trusting Castiel to create his own space entirely. He had enough money to design any sort of business plan. He had begun with taking management courses at the local community college, as well as culinary courses, when he learned that top students were often chosen to apprentice with Chef Leo of Avant-garde.

He just had to get to that point.


	2. Preheat

He hated Chef Leo. Everyone hated Chef Leo. Everyone except Chef Leo. 

Castiel hadn't really expected Leo to be easy to get along with. After all, in order to become the renowned chef he was, there was a particular arrogance that was often cultivated, a sort of demigod complex that came with the job. Not only did chefs like him rule over their kitchens, but they created masterpieces to be worshipped by the masses. So Castiel wasn't really expecting a sweet, easy-going personality. Even Chuck, while in his Chef Carver persona, was pretty difficult to like. He was demanding, unforgiving, often angry, impossible to please.

But Leo was a monster. 

It was always worth it to cook for Carver. At the end of the night, after the servers were out of the woods, and everything began to calm down, the man would look over at his kitchen staff and murmur, “Not bad,” and affection and relief would pour from them all, especially Castiel. Then Chuck would emerge, and the singing would start, and one of the bartenders would bring back a bourbon for Chuck while he finished the last few orders of the night. And Chuck cleaned with his staff, and used the time to ask about their lives and dreams and goals. Castiel adored him for it.

Leo was just a bastard. He rarely did any of the actual cooking, which wasn't too uncommon for a chef of his station, but after watching Carver bust his ass in the kitchen for so many years, Castiel had little respect for a man who did not lead by example as he did. Carver had cooked seven days a week at one restaurant or the other, and worked harder than any other person in the kitchen.

“Yeah,” Charlie said. “That's what killed him.”

Castiel frowned at her. “I'm not saying he shouldn't have taken a day to rest. I'm just-” 

“Cas, Chuck was like your dad. I get it. But because you worshipped the guy, you'll never be content working in anyone else's kitchen. That's why he left you the means to start your own place! What the hell are you still doing here every morning, and at Leo’s place every night?”

Castiel closed the oven and set to work placing the cupcakes on the cooking tray. “I'm here because I love it. I'm there because I still have a lot to learn about running a kitchen.”

Charlie shook her head at him. “What if Gandalf had never struck out on his own?” 

Blue eyes blinked at her as he tried to remember which books, movie, comic or television show she was referencing. “Then...then Harry might have had a normal academic career? Normal for a Jedi wizard, I mean.”

She stared at him in that way she often did, as if she had forgotten exactly who he was. “How are we even friends?” 

“I bake for you.”

“Yes you do.”

The door chimed, and Charlie turned to look out over the shop. “Welcome to-Sam!”

Castiel returned to his work. Charlie greeted most of the repeat customers by name. He was lucky if he remembered his own name after getting out of Leo’s kitchen after two in the morning, only to be back in the bake shop by six. Fortunately, Charlie would handle all interactions with humans. All Castiel had to do was bake and experiment in the kitchen, and Gabriel paid him for it. 

But his ears pricked as his friend's voice got higher-pitched than he had heard it since she had found out that Marvel was putting out a show all about someone called Peggy Carter. Whoever Sam was, he must be very exciting. 

And breathtaking. 

He had poked his head out of the kitchen in curiosity, and now he couldn't breathe. Everything in the whole shop was too bright, like a halo radiating from this large man who was hugging Charlie across the counter. When he stepped back, Castiel could see the dimple caused by his grin, and it made Castiel take in too sharp a breath. 

Charlie looked up. “Cas! Cas, this is Sam!” 

Castiel simply looked at her. 

“He's-Sam, this is my personal chef.”

Sam nodded and reached his hand out across the candy displays. “Hey. Sam Winchester, an old college buddy of Charlie's. I'm pleased to meet you.”

“I'm not.”

Both Charlie and Sam looked at him oddly.

Castiel took a breath, and released Sam's hand from both of his own. “I mean.” He glanced at Charlie to ground himself. “I'm not actually her personal chef. It's just that she only eats processed foods if I don't cook for her. So I do. Cook for her. Daily. Similarly, I suppose to a personal chef, but not.” 

It was nice of Sam to try not to laugh at him. Castiel appreciated the gesture. 

Charlie rolled her eyes at him. “Sam, this is my personal dweeb.” 

At last, Sam's eyes drifted back to Charlie. “Nobody uses that word anymore.”

“Yeah. I know. It's so out of style it's circling back.” 

“No it isn't.” 

“And I suppose ‘fetch’ isn't going to catch on either?”

Castiel frowned. “Things. In the oven.”

Charlie patted his hand. “You're right, Cas. It's safer back there. I release you back into your natural habitat. Go. Be free, dweeb. Be free!”

He scowled and returned to his small kitchen, vowing never to give her another cupcake ever again. At least not the green tea cream cheese frosting ones she liked so much. 

Customers came and went all morning, and Castiel stayed busy. He had worked late the night before, but tonight was Monday, and that was the start of his weekend off from Avant-Garde. So when the shop closed at six in the evening, he had been off the clock for three hours, but he was still there playing in the kitchen.

At ten after six, he emerged from the back room with a grin on his face. “Charlie! Come try these-” He came to an abrupt halt when he realized she was not the only one in the shop.

That Sam guy was back. He and Charlie were laughing at one of the two tables out front. Castiel's mouth went dry.

“Hey, bestie!” Charlie called. “Come on over! What are we trying?” 

He took a deep breath. “I didn't know you-I thought...I didn't know you had company.”

Sam gave him a kind smile. “Sorry. Charlie said it was all right for me to come back when she closed up.” 

“Of-of course it is! I just-” He swallowed. “It's a cheesecake-stuffed doughnut,” he blurted out, and plopped the plate of them between the two friends. “And I made you fairy bread to take home. It's in the back. I'll leave you alone.”

“Wait!” Sam cried out with a laugh. “Wait, are you in a hurry? Can't you join us?” 

Charlie looked up from the doughnut. “Come on, Cas! You're going to love Sam! Sit! Please?”

He narrowed his eyes as he tried to think of an appropriate reason to not do that.

“Stop giving me your Squintiel look, and sit down.” 

Sam burst into laughter. “It's okay, man. She used to call me Moose back at school.”

“Only sometimes. Other times you were the Ron to my Hermione.” 

“They got married, Charlie,” Sam reminded her.

She snapped her fingers. “And they were completely wrong for one another. Just like us.” 

“Charlie, you're gay,” Castiel said in exasperation.

“Exactly. And so is Sam. And so is Ron.” 

“What?” Sam shrieked. “He is not!” 

“My headcanon-fu is strong, Moose. Don't fight me.”

“Whatever. You read way too much fanfic.” He took a bite of the doughnut Charlie handed him.

“By which I assume you meant I read far too little fanfic.” 

Castiel was unsure what sort of book that was, so he said nothing. Besides, he was still busy not breathing at the revelation that the gorgeous man sitting at the table with him was into men too.

“That's not what I…” Sam stopped and turned to stare at Castiel. “This is amazing!”

He blinked. “What?”

“What? This! The doughnut! This is-Charlie, I gotta bring some of these to Dean. How much is a dozen?”

She giggled. “They aren't on the menu, Sam. This is just what happens when you leave Cas alone for too long in a stocked kitchen. The owner says he doesn't care how high our supplies bill is so long as we break even on Castiel's experiments.”

“This is really incredible! Did you try it?”

She bit into her own, and smiled. “Yeah,” she sighed happily. “That's Castiel's.” 

The chef was breathing too shallowly. The way the man was smiling with such utter pleasure was making him dizzy. He wanted to cook for this man, who got such sweet delight from his little treat. He wanted to prepare something truly special for him. 

“Cas?” 

“What?” he coughed. 

Charlie was watching him with amusement. “I asked what you're up to tonight.” 

“Oh, no, nothing. I might just stay here a while longer. I need to clean up.” It was a lie. He had cleaned already. This little shop kitchen was a breeze to scrub down, compared to the restaurants he had worked in over the years. 

She eyes him carefully. “Yeah. Okay, no. You should come out with us tonight. Just the four of us.” 

“Four?” 

“Sam's brother is in town. They used to live near here, and they've moved back! Or Sam has. Dean is…” She turned to Sam for assistance.

He smiled ruefully. “A tramp.” 

Castiel's eyes went wide.

“Not like that,” Charlie said quickly. Then she shrugged. “Okay, exactly like that. But also with the living out of his car thing.” 

Sam began to laugh again, and Castiel’s heart sighed in rhythm with it. “He's a good guy. But he's never figured out how to settle down.”

“What occupation allows him that freedom?” 

“He's an athletic recruiter for Kansas State. Goes around watching high school hotshots play basketball, and gets paid salary, commission and mileage.”

“Don't be jealous, Sam,” Charlie teased. 

He shrugged. “Hey, it keeps him fed and happy. Doesn't pay much but he doesn't need much. He scouts ten months a year, then comes to bother me the other two.”

Charlie grinned. “And now that's here! I'm so excited you're moving to town!” She punched him in the arm. “Why didn't you tell me?”

Sam rubbed his wound with a cringe. “We've been over this! I just found out I got the position! It starts in a week, and I had to pack my whole life and move! I didn't have time to let you know! But I'm here now!” He turned to Castiel unexpectedly. “So? You going to hang out with us?” 

Castiel had forgotten he had been invited. He licked at his lips nervously. “I could...I should call Gabriel.”

The man nodded slowly. “Is-is that your...partner? He's welcome too, of course.” 

Charlie snorted.

“No, he's not my partner. He's-I'm single.” Blue eyes widened in alarm. “Not that you asked. I mean, you asked. But because of Gabriel. Not because you wanted to know.” 

“Okay,” Charlie sighed. “Sam, excuse us while I conduct an intervention before my friend chokes on his foot.”

Then she was shoving him back through the kitchen door.

“What is wrong with you?” she demanded. “You haven't been this messed up since Gabriel tricked you into making pot brownies!” 

Castiel frowned. “That was not pleasant as he promised.”

She threw her hands up. “Yeah. Because you're already naturally paranoid. So? What's your malfunction? Is it just because he's pretty?”

“No! I mean, he is. Not-not pretty, I mean. I mean, he's attractive, but-” 

“You just said ‘I mean’ three times. I don't think you know what you mean.” She stared up at him intensely, then punched his arm. “You are! You're hot for Sam! Well, he has zero luck in romance, so you two should be a perfect fit.”

Castiel sighed. “I'm not giving you any fairy bread.” 

“Yes you will.” 

“Yes I will. But only because it's very simple to make, and I know you'll eat convenience store jerky and gummy worms tonight if I don't.” 

“I love you.”

He shook his head in defeat. “I know,” he mumbled.

“Come on. We're going to get a few beers with Sam and Dean. If you relax a little, I know you'll like them. And who knows? Maybe you and Sam will hit it off!”

“No one hits anything off with me, Charlie,” he reminded her miserably. “You know that.”

She reached up and touched his cheek gently. “Cas? You are someone's dream come true. I promise.”

A warm blush lit his cheeks, and he laughed. “You believe in every fantasy, don't you?” 

Charlie gave him a wink. “And most science fiction,” she confirmed.


	3. Combine Ingredients

Dean shook his head at him. “Cas, Leo’s a dick. You deserve better.”

He scowled at his new friend. It had been a half hour since he had begun drinking the wine he had planned to serve with dinner, straight from the bottle. He splashed a little into his sauce and sighed. “I wasn't dating him,” he muttered.

The man snickered. “No, I think we all know who you're saving yourself for, man.”

“I'm going to die alone and useless.”

“Oh, shut up. You are not. So Leo threw you out of the kitchen. So what? You don't need him!”

Castiel focused blurry eyes on his sauce. “I made a mistake.” 

“No, you made a great dish. And the critic wanted to speak with the guy that made it. That was you!”

He shook his head. “It was my dish, but it's not my kitchen. I should have gone to get Leo so he could meet with the critic at her table.”

“Why? He didn't cook it!”

“It's his kitchen.” 

Dean reached across the counter and grabbed the bottle before Castiel could raise it to his lips again. “Yeah, his kitchen, which you run every night, while he drinks himself stupid at the bar.” 

“That's his prerogative. He's the-” 

“So what? The lady wanted to speak to the guy in the kitchen, and that was you. He should have been pleased that you represented the place as well as you did. Instead, he was an asshat, and threw you out of the kitchen when you didn't lie and give him credit for something he had nothing to do with.” 

Castiel wanted his wine back. 

“Dude, seriously? You don't need him! You're killing yourself for him every night, and for what? He doesn't even pay you enough to quit your freaking day job!” 

“I work there for the experience of working under his management.”

Dean threw his hands up. “And that's called indentured servitude, Cas. Seriously. What are you so afraid of? You got everything you need to do your own thing!”

Sam's bright laughter poured out of the living room and made Castiel's head swim. He stared in the direction of the lovely sound. “But I still don't know how to talk to people,” he breathed. “I can manage a kitchen. Working as the senior chef at Avant-Garde, and as senior whenever Carver wasn't around before that, I-I've learned to do that. I'm confident about that. But the moment it isn't about the cooking anymore, I can't talk to people. And running a business involves...talking to people. I can manage a kitchen, with cooks and staff. But then they turn into people at the end of the night, and I don't know how to manage people. I don't like it.” He shrugged moodily. “I mean, you've had conversations with me while I'm not cooking. I'm pitiful.”

His friend sighed. “I wouldn't say you're pitiful.” 

“I'm an idiot savant. You said that just two days ago.”

“Maybe I did. But look. I can't help thinking you're doing what you think you're supposed to do, what this Chuck guy might have wanted, instead of what you want. I mean, the guy could have made you the head chef of one of his established five-star joints if he had wanted to. He didn't.”

“Because he knew I wasn't ready.”

“Or maybe because he knew that's not really what you want.” Dean shrugged and left the kitchen to rejoin the others, taking the wine with him.

Castiel frowned, and continued to work on dinner, even while his mind struggled through inebriation and exhaustion to work on this new puzzle.

***

Sam was coming off a hard breakup, and Charlie had declared herself his nurturer. Having been subjected to her cheery custody himself, Castiel was sympathetic.

At least once a week, they all ended up at Gabriel's place, playing video games and munching on whatever Castiel's project of the day was. Sam had smirked about them being about twelve years too old for that lifestyle, but even he had fallen happily into the rhythm.

Today, Dean and Gabriel were out on the deck talking sports and drinking beer, and Charlie had brought her girlfriend Dorothy, and had sneaked away at some point. Castiel feared they might be on his bed, but he didn't bother checking.

Instead, he offered his rainbow macaroons to Sam, and dropped onto the other end of the couch with a sigh. 

“You're still drunk,” Sam guessed. “Are you okay?”

“Don't ask stupid questions.”

Sam laughed quietly. “Sorry. Hey, man, I know it sucks, okay?”

“Your brother said I'm better off without him.”

“Yeah. He said the same thing about me and Brady.”

Castiel lowered his eyes. “Was he right?” 

“Definitely. Doesn't mean it doesn't suck.” 

If he weren't still a little intoxicated, even after dinner, he probably wouldn't have asked. But he wanted to know. “What happened between you and your partner?”

Sam snorted. He bit into the treat and sighed. “This is so good, Cas. I've gained five pounds since I met you five weeks ago.” 

Something about that made Castiel look up and smile. “I'm so glad.”

“Too skinny?” Sam teased. 

His eyes widened. “No! I didn't mean-You were perfect-are perfect, I just-I'm glad you like…”

The man laughed again. “It's okay, man. I'm messing with you.” He shook his head, then gave him a shrug. “But ask Brady. I'm definitely not perfect.” 

Castiel frowned then. “I'm inclined to think he doesn't deserve a vote.” 

The dimples were out to play. “Thanks. Talk to Dean and he's going to say Ty was a demon.”

“Ty?”

“Everybody called him by his last name. Tyson Brady.” Sam's eyes were fixed on his food, but Castiel could tell he was seeing something very far away. “God, he's a whole new level of beautiful, you know? I'd show you a picture, but Charlie made me delete them all.” 

“That doesn't seem like her place,” Castiel murmured carefully.

“Maybe not, but she was right. She caught me staring at his pictures in my phone. She knew Brady back in college too. We were a big group of friends. I had just come out of a bad thing with a guy named Jess, and his buddy Brady started hanging out even when Jess wasn't around anymore, and...Well, Charlie didn't like him even then, but I told her she was wrong.”

“Was she wrong?”

“No. Turns out it's really easy to cheat on two guys who used to date each other, and who don't ever want to be in the same room together.”

Castiel's eyes flashed angrily. “He was sleeping with Jess?”

Sam gave him a sad smile. “He's been seeing him behind my back off and on for six years. And apparently Jess just thought he was a workaholic and commitment phobic. Six years.” He cleared his throat of emotion and huffed a laugh, even as tears filled his eyes. “And there were others. Because why sleep with two men when you can sleep with four or five? Especially when one of them will ignore every sign, and keep your domestic life perfect for you while you're at it. At least Jess dumped him. Me, I tried to fix things. For four months, I tried to fix it. Because I told myself that if Ty is sleeping around, it must be because I'm not enough. And he agreed that it was all my fault.” 

“Your fault?”

“Well, you don't expect him to say it's his fault, do you? Nothing has ever been his fault. So for four months, I tried to tell myself we could recover from this. But I couldn't...I couldn't sleep with him anymore, knowing he'd been with other people. So finally, after trying to talk me back into bed for months, he gave up and left. And there have been too many times in the past few months that I've been ready to call and tell him I've changed my mind, that I'll even be the one on the side if he's found someone else.” 

Castiel flinched. 

“Yeah. Real healthy, right? So I had to get myself out of there. A position opened up at the university here, and here I am. It's been a year since I found out about Brady sleeping around.”

“Sam, I'm so sorry. That's terrible.” 

Then a large, warm hand was on his, and his breath stopped. Sam was looking into his eyes. “Cas, I was too skinny when I got here. You're right. It's because I was so low that I had trouble eating sometimes. But you take such complete joy in preparing food for people, people you don't even know, and...somehow it's easier when you're around. So thank you. Thanks to real friends...thanks to you, I'm healthier than I've been in a very long time.”

There was no response to that. None. So he took three shallow breaths and spoke in a whisper. “Sam, if I had the opportunity Tyson Brady had, I would never have been so ungrateful. I would never have taken advantage of that gift, never taken it for granted.” 

A grin made entirely out of perfect teeth, dimples and sunshine hit him full-force. “You know, Cas...a year is a really long time to go without giving someone an opportunity.” 

“I-I don't know what you mean by-”

Once Sam's lips were on his, Castiel thought he might understand what he had meant by that.


	4. Add Spice to Taste

The dinner had been prepared with all the hope in Castiel's heart, and it turned out perfect. What he hadn't successfully prepared was what he would say to Sam. He had tried. He had run several dozen things through the maze of his brain, and yet nothing seemed right. 

Then Sam saved him as soon as they sat down. “Tell me all about what we're eating and how it's made. I love hearing you talk about your food.”

Castiel's heart filled with excitement even as his lungs sighed out his relief. He could talk all night about the brodetto di pesce and the arancini di riso, why he had chosen the Verdicchio wine to go with it, but if Sam preferred, he also had a dry Riesling ready, and how simple the garlic knots were, and please save room for the gelato, which he had never tried making before but seemed so fun, and if Sam had never tried affogato, he badly hoped he was willing, and did he know that affogato al café translated to something like drowned in coffee, which was probably how Castiel wanted to die one day, though hopefully not before dessert tonight…

Sam smiled happily at him through the entire meal, speaking up only to ask a question or to express pleasure over the food. When at last Castiel fell into a content quiet, Sam laughed softly. “Cas, thank you. For this. This might be the most enjoyable evening I've had in a year. Probably longer.”

A dizzy pride beamed from Castiel in a tiny smile. “Me too.”

“You know, when we first met, I didn't know what to think of you.”

Castiel sighed, and busied his hands picking apart a garlic knot. “No one does. I don't either.”

Then that warm hand was on his wrist, calming his nerves. “I know now. Cas, you give of yourself so generously. Without ever expecting anything in return. You take such utter pleasure in other people's enjoyment of your food. I've never known anyone quite like you.” 

“Food…” Castiel swallowed hard. He couldn't make himself meet those lovely, deep eyes, but he was determined to speak. “Food is my contribution. I have never had much else to offer anyone. And I like it. Especially people like Charlie and Gabriel, they let me show affection my way. They don't need me to cook or bake for them. They just know that's how I…” He took a deep breath. “That's the only way I know how to show someone they mean something to me.”

Sam was watching him when he glanced up. It was strange, and Castiel wasn't sure what to think. 

A hot blush stung his cheeks when he realized it was just Sam listening. “Usually people cut me off before now,” he admitted.

The smile on Sam's face was a combination of gentle amusement and warm sympathy. “I guess other people don't realize how brilliant and genuine you are, and that it's worth waiting a moment while you put your thoughts into words.”

Fear tangled in his dry throat. He tossed back a swallow of wine in order to push through it. “It really isn't. If I'm not-I can hold, you know, a conversation so long as I'm cooking or-But if I'm not, I don't really have anything to say. Nothing-nothing that's worth having to listen to me try to say it.” Humiliation and wine sent a new wave of heat to his face. He stumbled to his feet. “In-in fact, please, I've got that gelato, and I think-I think you'll like it. As I said, I've never done it before, so I don't know how it will…” 

As his shaking hands reached for their dishes to clear them, Sam caught hold in a graceful movement that left their chests against one another and their hands folded behind one another's necks in an embrace.

The chef took a jagged breath, and words tumbled out of his mouth in a rush. “Sam, I'm so sorry. I think I might be in love with you.” 

Sam put one hand on either side of Castiel's face, and brushed up his jawline with his thumbs, making him shiver. “See?” he breathed. “That was definitely worth waiting to hear. Because I'm absolutely in love with you, Castiel. And I'm not sorry at all.”

The pulse under Sam's palm and against his chest was pounding so hard Castiel was trembling. But he took another breath and stared into those hazel eyes. “Sam, I know...I know you've been in love before. I haven't. And I've certainly...I've never been...No one ever…” He shook his head in frustration, and found himself leaning into Sam's right hand. “Sam, no one loves me. I'm not like you. So you might know what it means to love someone, better than I do maybe, but I know me, and I know you, and there's no way a man like you could want me. Maybe-maybe you're just...Look, you're rebounding from Brady. That's what it's called, right?”

The large, beautiful man was sighing.

“I don't have family, Sam. And I'm not very interesting, or all that smart, or-”

“Cas?” 

The soft voice caused him to lose his own.

“Castiel, listen to me. I loved Brady for six years.”

Castiel couldn't help the tiny flinch.

Sam held him tighter in response, but continued. “For six years, and in all that time, I never got to the point where I was as comfortable and relaxed with him as I am with you after just six weeks. I could give you a hundred reasons why I like you, Cas, why I'm in love with you, but it really just comes down to how you make me feel. I'm happy when I'm with you. I'm excited when I know I'll get to see you. When we're apart, I wonder what you're doing, and I want to be with you while you're doing it. I love just knowing you're nearby. Even when I'm sitting with Charlie and you're holed up in your kitchen, it makes me happy knowing you're there. And then you come in with some wonderful masterpiece, and you're so genuinely pleased when we love it, and it makes me want to hear how you made it, and what your thought process was. I just love how much heart you put into everything you do and make. And when you're happy…” Sam shrugged. “Cas, when you're happy, I can't help loving you for it.” 

To his shock, tears blurred his vision, and he had to blink against the emotion. “I didn't know I expressed so much without talking,” he murmured. “You know, how happy it makes me when you're enjoying something I've made.”

“That's love, Cas. You're right. I've done it before. But it's already better with you. And I truly want to hear everything you have to say. And when you can't say it...maybe I'll understand anyway. Your eyes give you away. I'm safe with you, and happy, in a way I know now that I never was with Brady.” 

“You said he was beautiful,” Castiel whispered.

“Yeah. And you know what I realized while I was getting ready to come here tonight?” 

Castiel shook his head in awe.

“He's not my type.”

“I want to be your type,” Castiel insisted. “I'll be anything.”

Sam kissed his lips softly. “My type is you. And I badly want to make love to you.”

Giddiness overwhelmed him. He grabbed hold of Sam's hand and pulled him toward his bedroom. “Come on! I'll let the gelato melt.” 

The large man snickered at him. “No you won't.”

Castiel hurried back out to the kitchen to put the gelato in the freezer. “No I won't,” he called over his shoulder, “but only because you'll want some later, and it takes a while to make, and I don't want you to have to wait.” 

He could hear Sam's gorgeous laughter behind him.


	5. Serve Warm

Gabriel complained more about the loss of baked goods than the loss of his best friend when Castiel moved out. So it was no surprise that he had pouted spitefully about selling the bakery. But in the end, he agreed. 

“On the condition,” he interjected when Castiel began to thank him. 

“Free food for life,” Castiel confirmed. 

“That's right,” Gabriel declared. “Don't forget it.”

Castiel laughed at him. “I'll post a sign for all employees.”

“A plaque,” he corrected. 

“A plaque. I promise.”

“Fine. I'll have Roman pull up the paperwork right away. Cas, you sure about this? The money my dad gave you? You could create the restaurant of your dreams.”

Contentment, and not a little relief, flowed through Castiel. “This is the restaurant of my dreams, Gabe. It's like Dean Winchester said. Carver didn't make me head chef in a fast-paced, five-star restaurant for a reason. He knew it wasn't what I truly wanted. I didn't know. But he did.”

Gabriel shook his head. “And this is really what you want, Cas?”

“It is. I'll use the capital your father gave me to expand the bakery staff and facilities, and create the catering business to run from it. It will still be a wonderful challenge, but it won't be the same sort of fever-pitch that kitchens I've worked in the past have been. It's where I'm happy, Gabe. I'll start small. Your dad’s gift will allow me enough operating time to ease into this. Charlie is finally going to use her digital marketing degree, and I'm making her my business manager. And then I'm hiring Jenny Klein to be my store bake chef, for when I'm working a catering job. For big events, Charlie will help out. I've barely slept since I came to this decision, Gabriel. I feel like...This is what I really want.”

The man shrugged. “You've been more relaxed than I've ever seen you in your life.”

He smiled. “I feel like I can take a full breath. It's all coming together, Gabe. Sam and I are…” Castiel sighed happily. “It's good.”

“Obviously,” Gabriel sulked. “Four months and you're already moving into his place.”

“We’ll still hang out every week, man. We're just moving the location. Unless you don't want me to cook for us-”

“No, no. I can come to your place. I don't have to like it.”

Castiel laughed. 

At last, Gabriel smiled too. “I've never seen you so happy and relaxed, man. I'm really glad you figured out what you want.”

So was Castiel. 

And years later, it was still exactly what he wanted. When he told Charlie that he was content in his kitchen, serving beautiful creations to his family at the holiday party in his bakery, he meant it with his whole heart. 

His husband wandered in eventually, with an empty tumbler, which had probably held eggnog at one time, in his hand. “Cas? I love you. I'm so glad I have you.”

He beamed at him. “Are you?”

Sam scowled and kissed his forehead. “Don't act surprised. I’ve told you that before.”

“And I tell you every day, when I cook for you.” He looked up into the blurry hazel eyes. “You know that, right? Because words...They don’t mean enough. They can’t say what you mean to me. I’ve never been good at saying it. Or-or anything. But I hope you can taste it.”

The man he had married put both arms around the chef, and held their heartbeats together. “Cas, I taste it in your food and your kisses, and I see it every time you smile. And there’s never been anything more satisfying in my life than seeing you happy. So keep doing what you’re doing, my love.”

Castiel closed his eyes with pleasure. “Can I tell you how the chicken, cranberry and brie tarts were made?”

“I’ve been waiting all evening to hear,” Sam assured him, and kissed him gently again.


End file.
